


cookiecutter days

by bellmare



Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:03:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellmare/pseuds/bellmare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She always thought Christmas wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He set out to prove her wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cookiecutter days

She always dreaded Christmas.

 

To many, it invoked happy childhood memories of carolling and playing in the snow, of gingerbread cookies and mugs of hot cocoa; for her, it was something else entirely. The vast carpet of white she could see from her window did not make her think of leaping into the slush to create snow angels; instead, she remembered white masks with black slitted eyeholes and constant cold.

 

 _A perpetual winter without Christmas_ , Blue always thought. _Just like in the stories._

Tonight, whilst all her friends were out partaking in the festivities, she had decided to stay at home—an unusual decision by her standards. It hurt too much, she eventually decided, to see everyone out and about with their families—especially when she didn’t have one of her own.

 

 _April isn’t the cruellest month,_ she thought with a dull jolt of realisation. _December is. December’s the most cruel month of all._

All around her, the world continued to spin—as it always did. The holiday cheer was infectious, but she couldn’t find it in herself to participate in the simple act of decorating her little home. Instead, she parked herself on the sofa and settled for idly flicking from channel to channel, searching aimlessly for anything – _anything_ – that didn’t remind her of the fact that she was spending Christmas alone.

 

Under normal circumstances, she would have been the first to set up a huge party—but this year, Blue found to her dismay that her heart just wasn’t in it.

 

.

 

She was surprised to receive the call that morning; never, in her wildest dreams, would she think that Green would contact her out of the blue like that. 

 

“Hello?” she chirped into the mouthpiece with convincing joviality, muting the volume on her television, which was currently showing one of those old black-and-white films the stations were so fond of playing during the holiday seasons.

 

“Blue?”

 

At the sound of his voice, she nearly toppled out of her couch. “G-green? What’s this? Why’re you calli—”

 

The sigh he heaved sounded like a rasp of static over the line. “Already with the questions. I just wanted to know how you were doing, that’s all. By this time of the year, you would already be sending out invitations to your usual big Christmas ‘do, complete with some hints towards what you wanted us to get you.” He subsided back into a thoughtful silence; she could almost imagine him chewing on the closest pen-cap at hand as he mulled his next words over. “Come Christmas Eve morning, and my phone would be ringing off the hook with you bugging me to help you with your shopping. Are you feeling … alright?”

 

She was faintly surprised at how verbose he had become; usually, she had trouble coaxing more than ten words in a row out of his stubborn mouth—and yet, here he was, stating a whole string of facts without much prompting.

 

Settling back in her seat, Blue cradled the phone to her shoulder, nestling her head amongst the overstuffed cushions. “I’m fine.” She paused for a beat. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she added hastily, the laugh she tacked on sounding feeble even to her own ears.

 

From the disbelief in Green’s tone, she could easily imagine the look on his face—brow creased with exasperation as he pinched the bridge of his nose, silently begging for patience. “Hrmm,” he replied; she knew that sound all-too-well—it was scepticism at its finest.

 

“Don’t you believe me?” she pouted, acting as though he was there right in front of her; for all her efforts, she received another doubtful, inarticulate grunt.

 

“I’m coming over,” he said at last, with a decisiveness she envied. Before Blue could open her mouth to respond with some witty rejoinder, he had disconnected, leaving her curled upon her armchair with the monotonous drone of a dial tone in her ears.

 

“Stupid, uptight—” she mumbled, lobbing the cordless receiver into the magazine basket.

 

* * *

 

Blue was still lounging around and nursing a mug of tea when the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, the first thing that came to mind was how _tall_ he had grown, how his features seemed somehow sharper, more defined. It hadn’t even been that long since they had last met—had it?

 

He looked different, almost—this time, there wasn’t that familiar shadow of annoyance on his brow; this time, his expression was curiously neutral, devoid of his customary half-scowl.

 

“Morning,” she said, tiptoeing to greet him with a peck on the cheek; she grinned despite herself when the faintest tinge of pink coloured his ears, hurriedly ushering him before he caught sight of her expression.

 

“Afternoon, actually.” Green set down the bulging bags he had been carrying, appraising her as though she was some scientific specimen. She was well-aware of the fact that she wasn’t as snappily-dressed as she normally was, and settled for meeting his gaze coolly, hands on hips.

 

“What, don’t you like my buneary slippers?”

 

In response to that, he snorted under his breath. “You ought to stop moping around indoors like that—it’s unhealthy,” he said without preamble, as tactless as ever.

 

Blue frowned with a haughtiness she didn’t quite feel. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Her words rang hollow, and she knew that he knew. His features were smooth, expressionless as always. Under his scrutiny, Blue felt her resolve beginning to waver; faced with the full intensity of his stare, she allowed her head to droop and her shoulders to sag. “I can’t do this—not anymore,” she whispered.

 

He seemed to understand right away; as she lowered her gaze to the floor, Blue forced herself to focus on the fluffy pom-poms on her slippers—anything, _anything_ to keep her mind of her own dismal state of affairs.

 

She _felt_ rather than heard Green move; were it not for the warmth of his hands, the feather-light touch of his lips upon her forehead, she could have sworn she had been imagining things—it was so unlike him, so uncharacteristic a gesture. As she fought back stubborn tears – it was _Christmas,_ and she should be crying on what was meant to be a happy occasion—

 

“You should stop trying to be strong for others,” she heard him say quietly as he hesitantly cupped her chin, tilting her head back. “You should let others have that chance, for a change.”

 

.

 

Having effectively been stunned into silence – since when did Green ever initiate contact between them? – she could not quite object when he set about flinging the curtains back and opening the windows. The afternoon brightness was blinding after she had spent the past few hours enjoying the shady solitude the thick drapes offered; the crisp scent of snow drifting in made her shiver.

 

“Out of your pyjamas,” Green barked, his earlier actions all but forgotten as he strode back into her line of sight and shut off the television. “You need some fresh air.”

 

Admittedly, she liked him better when he let down his guard and forgot about that icy shell of composure he wore like a second skin.

 

“They’re not pyjamas,” she shot back huffily, and then smiled—a sly, crafty grin that was more like the Blue of old. “Are you trying to get me out of my clothes? I’m _very_ flattere—”

 

His only response to that was a near-imperceptible reddening about the cheeks. “Get dressed,” he muttered. “I’m taking you out.”

 

This aroused her interest – under normal circumstances, this would be the other way around: she would be dragging a protesting Green about and burning a hole through his wallet, happily ignoring all his complaints. Today, it was not to be.

 

.

 

She took the first tentative step outside, shivering as the cold wind gusted in her face, nipping at every inch of exposed skin. The cardigan she shrugged on no longer seemed as warm; the scarf she threw around her shoulders didn’t feel as snug as it should have.

 

“Well?” Blue began with a trace of impatience, teeth clicking noisily as she spoke. “Where to?”

 

Her companion was staring intently at her with a curious expression—she could have sworn it was almost akin to _concern_.

 

Then, he blinked, shifted his gaze, and the moment passed.

 

“I’ll never understand why girls buy clothes that aren’t even properly functional,” he said drily, refusing to meet her eyes. Before she could open her mouth, Green shrugged off his overcoat, holding it unceremoniously out to her. “Put it on.”

 

Blue decided it was useless to argue, and took the proffered garment.

 

He watched wordlessly as she struggled with the over-long sleeves, throwing his hands up in mingled frustration and grudging amusement when he finally deigned to help her.

 

By the time she was bundled up in his coat, he was already leading the way, hands stuffed resolutely into his pockets as he picked his way over to the gate.

 

“Thank you,” she began—then stifled a startled yelp when she felt herself sinking into a particularly deep patch of snow.

 

Green’s hand was already closing around hers as he helped her to regain her balance. “ _Pesky_ woman,” he muttered under his breath, brow already creasing into those familiar frown lines she knew so well. “You can’t expect me to look out for you forever.”

 

.

 

It was the first time she was actually going out during Christmas, not to do a spot of last-minute shopping for what would eventually disintegrate into a rowdy late-night party—no, today was all about enjoying the festive ambience around her. Green suffered her exclamations with an overbearing silence, passing none of his usual snide comments as she pressed her nose to frosted windowpanes, admiring the displays of candy and clockwork automatons.

 

“They’re _beautiful_ ,” she breathed, watching with wide eyes as a woman placed delicate honey-gold nests of spun sugar atop a gingerbread house. Green made no audible response, turning up the collar of his jacket as he trudged on.

 

“Stop dawdling,” he said, the apparent harshness of his words diminished somewhat by the lack of impatience in his voice. “We have an agenda for today.”

 

Blue pouted. “I thought you were taking me out?”

 

Though her companion was some distance in front of her, she could see all-too-clearly the nonchalant rise and fall of his shoulders that suggested a dismissive shrug. “Right,” he replied offhandedly, without turning around. “You’re outside, aren’t you?”

 

Any other girl would have started screeching about how much of a _horrible_ person he was, but Blue didn’t mind; besides, she wasn’t _just_ any girl. Besides, she was used to his behaviour—she had always assumed it was his way of showing affection.

 

Not that she ever told him, though.

 

It was this thought that she kept in mind as he dragged her from store to store, making a few key purchases – what on earth did they need royal icing for? And why did he need all that candy? Green _never_ enjoyed sweets: he had grumbled up a storm the last time she tried making hazelnut praline and insisted on using him as her guinea pig. Blue found her earlier melancholia beginning to retreat as they flitted around the marketplace; the fact that Green didn’t object to her buying whatever she wanted helped, too.

 

He didn’t seem to mind – much – when she skipped over to the jewellers, tugging at his jacket sleeve and pointing slyly towards the holiday-themed earrings on sale. The gym leader had only spared her a sidelong glance before allowing himself to be led into the shop, whereupon they spent the next half hour trying to figure out which trinket suited her more.

 

“Look!” she called, waving a toffee apple in front of his nose. “I’ve always wanted to try these!”

 

Blue didn’t expect him to respond in the manner that he did; instead of muttering about how he didn’t want any, he accepted the stick from her, only to regard it with squinty-eyed suspicion.

 

“It’s not going to eat you,” she explained with exaggerated patience, employing the kind of tone reserved for reasoning with small children. Green shot her a dour look.

 

“I know,” he replied waspishly, and as if to prove his point, promptly took a whopping bite from the sweet.

 

She watched his face as he chewed, noting the subtle shifts in his expression. “Well? How is it?”

 

“It’s nice,” he said at last, after he had managed to unstick his teeth. Blue beamed.

 

.

 

It was only once they were on the way back to her house – accompanied by another few bags of groceries and the like – that she remembered what else snow could be used for, other than creating the illusion of unnerving constancy.

 

As Blue set down her bags by the mailbox and bent down to scrape together the first few clods of snow, her mind wandered back to a time when she had been too afraid to get too close to the cold, lest it consumed her entirely and left her a frozen shell, just like one of _his_ ice sculptures—locked in perpetual stasis. She thought back to a time when she had shied away from the harsh bite of frost, never once daring to let down her guard and imagine what it was like to be a normal child in the world outside; what it was like to play in the snow.

 

Then, she thought of Green, of the concern in his eyes and the worry lines on his face – something nobody as young as him should be displaying, she thought ruefully – and of the friends she had met along her way to free herself from the shadow of the Masked Man. She thought of Red and his smile that reminded her of a balmy sunset, of Silver, who was already setting out to carve out a path for himself. She thought of Yellow, Gold and Crystal, of the strength of the bonds she had begun to forge with them—and she smiled.

 

“Hey, Green.”

 

“What is it n—”

 

The rest of his words were abruptly cut off as she chucked a snowball at him. He reacted quickly, but not quickly enough—instead, Blue’s projectile exploded against his shoulder in a flurry of white. He scowled—but there was no true anger there.

 

“After everything I have done for you, and after humouring your shopaholic urges, this is what I get,” Green griped – somewhat unconvincingly, she thought – as he turned his back to her, only to recall the fact that it wasn’t his house they were returning to. “Why are you so _obnoxious_? Are all girls like you?”

 

“I’m one of a kind,” she declared airily, fingers already patting down another clump of snow.

 

Green turned pointedly away from her, only to be hit on the back of the head by her snowball. “Stop that,” he deadpanned, voice as level as ever.

 

“Come on! It’s fun! I’ve always wanted to try this sort of thing!”

 

His gaze could have frozen steam. “No.”

 

She retaliated by hurling another clod at him; mercifully, it missed by miles, sailing far off to his right to explode harmlessly against her windowsill. Green snorted. “You have terrible aim,” he said scornfully, brow quirked with grudging amusement.

 

The next would have hit him square on the face, had he not dodged to the side. “Would you _just_ —”

 

After a few more near-misses, Green, in his escalating annoyance, seemed to decide enough was enough.

 

Blue was too busy laughing to see the snowball headed towards her.

 

.

 

By the time they made it indoors, both of them were shivering and gingerly stamping slush from their shoes. Green alternated between cursing vehemently and half-heartedly berating her for her childishness, but Blue didn’t really care. She might have lost their match – as the patches of snow melting in her hair and damp clothes attested – but she didn’t particularly mind if it was to Green.

 

“It was good for you to loosen up a bit,” she said cheerily, only to let loose an explosive sneeze.

 

Green’s eyes narrowed, all traces of good humour draining away from his face. “Go get yourself cleaned up. I don’t want to see you until you’re all dry and preferably bundled up in a quilt. I’m not taking care of you if you fall sick.”

 

At this, she grinned. “Are you _sure_?” she drawled, casually stretching out the last syllable. “ _Absolutely_ sure?”

 

The look he speared her with could have cut through stone. “Yes,” Green growled from between his teeth, but his expression said otherwise.

 

Against her protests – ‘I’m _fine_ , really, just a little chilly!’ – he turned her around, frog-marching her towards her room. As the door slammed shut behind her, Blue could have sworn she caught another mutter of _annoying woman_.

 

.

 

When she made it back outside, jazz renditions of various Christmas carols were issuing from the stereo; at this, Blue frowned. As far as she recalled, she didn’t own any music of the kind—far too often, she had popped gift CDs into her player, only to find herself curled against the overstuffed side of her armchair, staring vacantly into the fireplace and telling herself, _I will not cry, I will not cry_ , over and over.

 

She trailed uncertainly into her kitchenette, taking in the sight of Green wearing her apron – which was several inches too short – and cracking eggs into a mixing bowl. His rather dismally drenched winterwear was already draped all across her heater, which didn’t seem to be up to the task of drying clothes. She watched him for a while, noting his rolled-up sleeves and the spot of dough that had transferred itself to the collar of his shirt.

 

“What are you doing?” Blue sidled over to his side, sniffing experimentally at the concoction he was stirring.

 

“Baking,” was his succinct response. “Can you please not do that?”

 

“Oh, sorry.” She retreated to the kitchen island, watching as he upended a cup of sugar into the mixture. “Need, um, help?” Privately, she was intrigued; baking Christmas confections was another thing she had never done—usually, she just went to the shops and bought whatever she could, and that was all the preparation she ever did.

 

Not that she would ever admit as much.

 

Green informed her that they would need icing. She attacked the ingredients with gusto.

 

.

 

Baking, Blue concluded, was tremendous fun. Green did not seem inclined to agree: he took one look at her – more preoccupied with licking the icing from the spoon than with being productive – and shooed her away from the riot of crockery.

 

Assembling gingerbread houses, on the other hand, served as immense entertainment.

 

Green soon tired of telling her to stop nicking the liquorice allsorts and chocolate pinwheels, instead assigning her the momentous task of holding the walls up whilst he stuck them together.

 

By the time he pulled the cookies out of the oven, he all but chased her from the wire rack on which they sat cooling. As afternoon melted into evening, Green stopped attempting to move the tiny metallic dragée balls and bags of icing from her reach, and settled for watching as Blue alternated between eating the cookie decorations and doodling whatever pattern struck her fancy upon the crisp shortbread.

 

.

 

Before ten, they were curled up under an old, tremendous afghan Blue had unearthed from the back of her closet, Green complaining about her overly soft couch as he sank deeper and deeper into the upholstery.

 

Despite the – relatively – early hour, Blue was _knackered_. Her companion had passed some snide comment about all her eating getting to her, and had only desisted when she elbowed him in the ribs.

 

“All that isn’t going to do any favours to your figure,” he said idly, watching as the brunette helped herself to yet another cookie. “That was supposed to be for the others when we meet them tomorrow.”

 

She munched contentedly on the shortbread. “This is _delicious_ ,” Blue sighed. “Next year, can you do all my cooking for me?” Then, she paused, levering herself upright from where she lay sprawled across the majority of the sofa. “Ah, but that means you’re implying I already have a great figure!”

 

Green grunted in a superbly inelegant manner as he reached for her television remote, which he extricated with some difficulty from the jumble of magazines in the basket. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he commented offhandedly as the screen buzzed to life. “It makes you look unattractive.”

 

“Ah-hah! That means—”

 

He silenced her by forcing another crumbly biscuit into her fingers. “Even _more_ unattractive.”

 

“Meanie,” she huffed; he paid her no attention, eyes already wandering back to the television. Blue followed his gaze, cringing inwardly.As soon as she saw the title of the movie, her earlier despondence came rushing back full-force. Every year, she had watched them; every year, she always went to bed puffy-eyed and red-faced, tissues strewn all over her coffee table.

 

It was only then that she realised Green was looking at her; in the darkness of the room, with only the bluish tint of the screen as lighting, she couldn’t make out half of his face. What she _could_ see made her wonder if this was even the same person she had come to know. The gentleness in his eyes unsettled her—she had only experienced ferocity, vehemence and aloofness in that stare, but this— _this_ was something else entirely.

 

He made a strangled sort of sound in his throat as she wrapped her arms around him, leaning against his side. “Um,” he began awkwardly, earlier self-assurance fading from his words. “Why don’t we watch other things … ?”

 

“No,” Blue said suddenly, with a sort of panicky note of hysteria entering her voice. “It’s … a sort of tradition of mine, I need to—”

 

She was fleetingly aware of a bemused frown creating that familiar crease between his brows, of a sort of resigned shrug as he tore his eyes away from her. Then, with painful hesitancy, he put an arm around her shoulders, stubbornly refusing to meet her gaze. “Well. Fine then. We’ll watch it together.”

 

“ _No_ ,” Blue repeated, albeit with less conviction. “Don’t you have to go home?”

 

Green still kept his eyes trained on the screen. “I’ll stay,” he said – so softly that she could barely hear him even though they were mere centimetres apart – in that tone of his that she knew booked no argument.

 

Even though the _just for you_ remained unspoken, she could feel it all the same.

 

“Thank you,” she began, but he only turned the volume up.

 

.

By the time the movie ended at half-past twelve, Blue had long since dozed off, snoring gently against Green’s shoulder—which was already numb, and had been for goodness only knew how long.

 

As the credits rolled, he found himself playing with the ends of her hair, still wondering for the umpteenth time why he was being used as a human pillow when there were plenty of cushions for Blue to choose from.

 

It was only once he glanced at the clock that Green realised it was Christmas already. He shuddered at the thought of having to rush home in the morning to get changed so that he could make it to the party on time, and settled for inwardly lamenting the fact that Blue was curled up against him, leaving him with no option but to spend the night.

 

With some effort, he reached for the remainder of his eggnog that lay just out of reach on Blue’s coffee table. Once he managed to snag the handle of the cup – all without waking his sleeping companion up – and settled back into place, Green stared long and hard at her peaceful features, as though trying to memorise every little detail.

 

He rather preferred her this way, when she wasn’t testing his patience and attempting to provoke his thoughts.

 

At last, he raised his mug, addressing the darkened room.

 

“Merry Christmas, Blue,” he said quietly, and downed the rest of his drink.

**Author's Note:**

> Circa 2011, for [Snoaz](http://snoaz.livejournal.com).
> 
> Old, old, old stuff.
> 
> ... and me being even more unfunny.


End file.
